


Mēnin

by Violetcarson



Series: The Force That Leaves You Colorless [1]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M, TSOA Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-25 00:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3790006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetcarson/pseuds/Violetcarson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mēnin: Greek for wrath or rage. The first word of the Iliad.</p><p>Gods are not like mortal men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mēnin

**Author's Note:**

> Major character death warning for canonical character death.

Mēnin

* * *

 Gods are not like mortal men.

_**Rage. Sing, Muse, the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles** _

* * *

 When Achilles is five, his mother comes to him in the night. She whispers to him of the glory of divinity, of the power of his blood, his birthright. Surging beneath his skin, his blood will raise him high above the others, beyond all other men.

Achilles thinks on it, decides he’d like to try to fly.

* * *

They do not bleed. They do not fall. They do not err.

_**And its black and murderous devastation** _

* * *

 The earth shakes. Outside the walls one of the smaller farming settlements is destroyed. Peleus rides out to survey the damage, and Achilles is beside him in the chariot. He peaks over the edge, sees fallen walls and weeping women.

He asks his father why.

“They angered the gods, my son.” Peleus rests a hand on his head, fingering the golden curls there.

“But what have they done?” Achilles asks. He thinks to ask his mother. Surely she will know.

“The gods are capricious. But it does not matter now. The other villages will see this destruction and sacrifice. Perhaps they will be spared then.”

When they return to Phthia, Achilles watches the ground, waiting for it to shake.

Peleus leads his city in a sacrifice to slake the wrath of the Earth-shaker, that Phthia might also be spared. Achilles watches as the bull is brought before the altar. The pipes play soothingly and the bull’s head is lifted easily, stretching up towards the sky. The burst of blood across the altar is startlingly red.

* * *

 Gods are to be appeased. Or they are to be feared.

_**That brought pains thousandfold upon the Achaians,** _

* * *

 “Godlike Achilles.” When he walks, he hears the whispers behind him. He races, legs stretching, toes curling into the dust. Afterward, the laurel is placed on his head. “Godlike,” the smiling king says as he presents Achilles with the Amphora filled with oil.

It is always the same. Even when he is alone, hurling spears of smooth ash, feeling the flex of individual muscles in his back, he can hear the whispers that follow him.

“Godlike Achilles.” His is to be a great destiny. He will be a leader of men, a king, a general. His glory will be second only to that of the gods.

But when his eyes meet those of the exiled boy from the north, the whispers stop. When they talk or race along the beach or toss leather balls to each other in the lamplight, he doesn’t feel his godlike destiny waiting for him. He is simply Achilles.

* * *

 Gods do not love.

_**Hurled the multitudes of heroes into Hades’ dark,** _

* * *

 In the night he watches Patroclus sleep. He watches, rapt, as the black hair drifts across his cheek with the sway of their ship. They will reach Troy the next day and Achilles will begin the task of becoming a hero, but for now he watches Patroclus breathe, feels the warm air from his mouth brush against his own cheek, presses his face against Patrolus’ neck and imagines he can live forever in this moment, that this night’s darkness can stretch on and on.

* * *

 Gods do not die.

**_And left their bodies to rot as feasts_ **

* * *

 His Rage could shake the earth. He understands now, why men fear the gods. The godly blood burns through his veins and he feels nothing else. He does not feel the warmth of the paltry human blood that splashes against his face. He does not feel the strain of exhaustion that should be burning in his shoulders. He does not feel hunger or thirst. There is only the rage.

So this is what it is to be godlike, he thinks.

And there, across the plain he spots him. The horsehair plume is stained with blood and the armor is nearly unrecognizable, but in his burning blood he knows. Hector. He has found him. And he will destroy him. This is what it is to be a god, and he will have his sacrifice.

When Patroclus died, the human man who loved him died too, leaving only the Wrath.

When his Wrath is appeased there will be nothing left of Godlike Achilles.

* * *

And for that, the gods envy mortal men.

_**For dogs and birds, as Zeus’ will was done.** _

* * *

 The fields stretch on forever. Achilles wanders, stares into blank face after blank face, and never finds him. He drifts.

In the darkness, he begs goddess for aid. Kore, he begs her, you of all the deathless gods know what it is to long for another.

But he is just one screaming soul now, just a man, and she gives him no answer.

A moment comes though, that changes. Through the endless fields of wandering grey souls he sees him, a light in the darkness. They come together like waves crashing over the sea of souls, and they bask in the glow.

“Achilles,” the shade of Patroclus whispers to him as their souls cling together, and though he lacks a body he can almost feel the breath on his cheek. “Achilles.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translation of the opening of the Iliad from a combination of Lattimore and Lombardo. Written for TSOA week on tumblr, prompt: contrast. 
> 
>  I always appreciate feedback.
> 
> [Visit me on tumblr.](clearancecreedwatersurvival.tumblr.com)


End file.
